here’s a poem from my book!! also: the link to pre-order your copy!!
but first, i’d like to share some stories about: hard-love + self-judgment.
i recorded the audio for you this week. let me know if i should keep doing that :)
if you’re on the app— you can listen here
in high school, i’d listen to songs with bass beats, imagine myself dancing like the strong dark-haired girl i admired in p.e.— i’d see myself landing jump leaps and casual pirouettes, or dream up that my body could bend backward in an elegant dip, as if to bow outward towards the pain of losing little randall jones (the first time). i’d imagine i could fly into a spin mid air, land lightly, no sound when my feet hit the concrete floor on a school’s theater stage. if i could master this, i’d think, then i’d watch myself in awe from the audience auditorium. i’d applaud and allow myself the grace of: self-gratitude + recognition.
in college, i took four different poetry classes with the same tall, thick-bearded older man. he was ex military, in his forties, witty and wise from a life harshly lived, quietly romantic with his words, and vicious with his ability to make me pay attention. he wrote a poem about how love is only hard because we have to live in houses together. it wrecked me while waking me; my jealousy a jolt of lightning. i’d type quickly on the weekends, try to find his words on my page. i’d fight endlessly with semi-colons in the evenings, prop up at coffee shops, get the couch seat by the art gallery wall, pretend to write easily about childhood heartache. i’d think: if i could write a poem about hard-love in houses, if i could just do that, then i’d congratulate myself and award myself the honor of: nurture + attention.
i’ve told you about my mean friend who was prettier than me. she was tight-framed, wore junior girl’s dresses when we were in high school. her hair was always glossy and some new cut, her mom let her have piercings on her face, and all the boys called her at night. i’d squeeze into her dresses, sport them embarrassingly as shirts, envy her body in a bathing suit. i’d skip breakfast, ignore lunch, feel for my ribs in the afternoon. i’d buy a size small to boast the tag at the back of my neck, bend my toes to fit inside her shoes. if i could just be smaller, i’d think, then the boys would call me at night and my mean friend, maybe she would be nice to me, and then i could hug myself and move closer to: self-love + admiration.
i know you understand that the truth in these stories is that i won’t ever land a mid-air spin, i won’t write a mind bending poem about hard-love inside houses, and i won’t be small and pretty like my mean friend. but here are the secrets: the strong dark-haired girl grew to stop dancing and became a scientist instead, the thick-beared man never published that poem, and my mean friend spent years lying about the women she loved, hiding herself inside relationships with men, and now: she lives cowardly inside the same room i used to envy her body from, she pulls her hair out from the root and she wallows by the wall, waiting for me to enter in through the window again.
these are angsty feelings. these are stories about self-abandonment. these are all the different lives we live as one self. i wrote a poem about this feeling and i’d like to share it with you.
here is: ‘nectar’ from my debut poetry book ‘some scared sister’.
nectar.
sometimes i kick the wrong rock and i’m down, knees bleeding, a teen, tongue-tied and taunting, watching the rain as incense turns to ash, ears burning from hot headphones blaring coldplay’s ‘a rush of blood to the head.’
was i wrong to hide in my room for all of those years? because, now, look at me—i miss her. the hum of the floor heater, coarse journal paper tearing from worn-out erasers,
waiting on a phone call from someone i’d never love.
here’s the thing, and i’m sure you’ve felt it:
the older i get, the more parts of me i have left to miss. today i ache for her: sixteen in a dusty bedroom, blinds open, mid rain, something angsty to say.
"Some Scared Sister" is a poignant journey through the complexities of familial strife, anxiety, and addiction, framed by the transformative power of art. This collection of poetry delves into the heart of loving an addict, unearthing the pain, resilience, and indelible impact on one's psyche. With raw honesty and vivid imagery, it navigates through memories, confronts hard truths, and offers glimpses of hope and healing. It’s a testament to the non-linear path of recovery, a narrative that resonates with the strength found in vulnerability and the beauty in brokenness.
art + illustrations by
you can preorder your copy of ‘some scared sister’ now thru friday, july 12, 2024.
there are 15 signed copies available at a discounted rate of $12.99. on tuesday, july 16 my book will go live on amazon and be available to the public for $19.99.
written by a friend and printed on the back cover of my book:
C.S. Mee emerges as a vibrant new voice in poetry and fiction from Southern California. As a wife and mother, her life is richly woven into her words, transforming personal struggles with anxiety and childhood memories into compelling narratives. Her debut, "Some Scared Sister” marks the exciting launch of her literary journey, promising a future bright with emotional depth and resonant storytelling. With a voice both unique and universal, Mee is an author who not only writes to understand her own story but also to resonate with the hearts of others.
i hope you enjoyed this reading and please let me know if you plan to pre-order my book! i appreciate you giving me the time and space today.
til next tuesday,
signed // c.s. mee
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Brava, Carly!
The journey of growth.